


i like you forever

by threefouram



Category: Noli Me Tangere & Related Works - José Rizal
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-10
Updated: 2017-05-10
Packaged: 2018-10-30 05:57:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10870524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/threefouram/pseuds/threefouram
Summary: ' The writer strikes through several lines on the page before him, flips to the next and scribbles something out. He pauses, shakes his head, and draws a line through that too. He taps his pen against the table, glances out the window and waits for something to hit him. He switches to pencil. More scribbling. A cough. He looks up briefly, gives the other man an acknowledging half-smile before returning to his writing.The scene looks like this: Isagani, writing his brain dry at his desk, a frustrated look on his face. Basilio, watching from their bed, admiration coloring his eyes. 'or: in which Isagani swears at his writing, and Basilio swears him the rest of their lives.





	i like you forever

**Author's Note:**

> this is a cute li'l thing. possibly-definitely out of character, but cute nonetheless.
> 
>  
> 
> talk to me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/saaille).

Isagani curses under his breath, groaning into his hands.  
  
He pulls his face away from his palms, lets his eyes scan through his work so far. He chews at his lips furiously, furrows his eyebrows as he reads over a paragraph of undeniably purple prose. "This is shit," he swears at his writing, curling his fists to prevent them from ripping the paper into shreds. "This is  _just_  shit. _Dios mio_."  
  
(That, and other variants of that, has been the soundtrack to Basilio's day thus far.)  
  
The writer strikes through several lines on the page before him, flips to the next and scribbles something out. He pauses, shakes his head, and draws a line through that too. He taps his pen against the table, glances out the window and waits for something to hit him. He switches to pencil. More scribbling. A cough. He looks up briefly, gives the other man an acknowledging half-smile before returning to his writing.  
  
The scene looks like this: Isagani, writing his brain dry at his desk, a frustrated look on his face. Basilio, watching from their bed, admiration coloring his eyes.  
  
The medical student can't say he's dissatisfied with this arrangement, his smile has been dancing on his lips for an hour now.  
  
It's an honor, really— What a sight it is to him, to witness the writer in his element. (It involves a lot more self-deprecation and swearing than Basilio had anticipated.) He's flattered to have Isagani express his trust and comfort in him the way he is— though, perhaps a bit overwhelmed as well. He almost asks Isagani if he was sure about all this, but he does that smiling thing again and just like that Basilio's worries are gone.  
  
The  _swearing, looking up, smiling, looking back down_ goes on for twenty-nine more minutes.  
  
That is, and then the scribbling stops and Isagani's frustrations cause him to throw his eraser out the window.  
  
"That's not very good for the environment," a teasing voice drags him out of his bitter musings.  
  
The writers snaps his head over to the other man, gaze narrowed.  
  
Basilio shrugs, laughs, and mockingly raises both of his arms in surrender.  
  
Isagani gives him one last look before dropping his head back to his notebook. He reaches out for an eraser blindly with his left hand, writing something with his right and cursing when the lead breaks. He takes a look at the eraser, rolls his eyes, and takes out the unfinished word. (It's shaped like a duck— definitely Basilio's, because he's dating a  _child_  that's going to be a doctor one day.) He goes back to pen.  
  
His hand, Basilio thinks, is made to write like that. The movement looks all over the place in the best way— almost smooth but paired with the uncertainty that the writer has in his words, sometimes drawing harsh lines, other times the ink barely touches the paper.  
  
The scribbling stops thirteen minutes later.  
  
Basilio looks up from the hand previously moving against the paper with an appreciative grin spread on his cheeks. Isagani looks right back at him.  
  
The writer's expression is blank, save the way a small smile cracks his lips. This makes the other man's smile grow.  
  
Neither really know what to expect from this impromptu staring contest, but it leaves them both beaming by the end of it.  
  
"Think it's done," Isagani says after a moment of silence, smile fading slightly. "...Maybe."  
  
"I mean, if you think it is, then—"  
  
"It is," he says quietly.  
  
The doctor in the making looks at him patiently, waits for him to be more sure of himself.  
  
"It's done." This time it comes out a little more decisively. "It's just maybe real shitty, too."  
  
Basilio nods along, but expresses his disagreement in a grunt. "I'm sure it's brilliant, Gani."  
  
He closes his notebook and stands up, laughs a bit. "Yeah, you... just keep thinking that." He shakes his head as though what Basilio had said was absurd. He clears the desk from all his stationery a little bit and takes off his glasses, walks toward the bed.  
  
The other man rolls his eyes at the retort and gets up. "I will," he grins. "Just like I'll keep thinking of you, alright? You're _brilliant_."  
  
"You..." Isagani pokes a finger at Basilio's chest, getting into his personal space, "...are an idiot."  
  
Basilio's smile doesn't even waver as he reaches for Isagani's hand. "You love me." (His hand, Basilio thinks, is made to be held like this.)  
  
Isagani pulls him close enough that their noses touch. "I do," he smiles. "You're a real lucky guy, Basilio."  
  
"You're really cute up close," the other man mumbles. "I can't believe we were ever further apart."  
  
His hands bundle up the edges of Basilio's shirt, pulls him closer. "Mhmm..." Isagani murmurs.  
  
There is a lapse of silence. Impromptu Staring Contest Number Two ends in heart eyes and mutual admiration. ( _Eyes_ _._ _Windows to the soul, they say._ )  
  
"Marry me," Basilio breathes out.  
  
Isagani laughs, leans his head on Basilio's shoulder. "Okay."  
  
  
  
"You know, typically the  _I do_ comes after the proposal."  
  
"Shut up."  
  
"Shutting up now."  
  
  
  
  
  
"Will you ever show me what you were writing today?"  
  
"Don't know... We'll, uh, see..."  
  
"I just proposed to you, come on—"  
  
" _Where's my ring?_ "  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
"Does this mean we can have sex now?"  
  
(Isagani's asexual self laughs at his boyfriend— rather, _fiancé_.) "You're twenty-three. Calm your hormones."  
  
"Okay, but I'm kissing you at the wedding."  
  
"You do that anyway."  
  
"Mm... I know, I just wanted to say wedding. Fuck, Gani,  _wedding_."  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
"Are we going to stand here forever?"  
  
"I have a better idea." (Isagani pushes their weight over, causes them to fall onto the bed as a bundle of limbs.)  
  
(Basilio pulls him closer so their hearts beat next to each other.) "I think I like your idea."  
  
"I think I like you."

**Author's Note:**

> talk to me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/saaille).


End file.
